The Pride of a Saarebas
by LuxaLucifer
Summary: Hawke was heading to Antiva to meet Isabela, Merrill and Fenris in tow, when she found a surprise captive in Tal-Vashoth hands. She, of course, did the right thing and freed him. That's what things got more complicated. This fic is AU in only one way: Orsino was stopped by Hawke before turning into Harvester. Warnings inside.
1. Chapter 1

Rated M for gore, violence, and mentions of sexual assault.

This fic is AU in only one way: Orsino is stopped by Hawke before turning into Harvester. It will be several chapters, some of which are already written. I hope you like it. :)

* * *

The air was thick and warm, the humidity high as they trekked through the brush, shielded from the sun by trees. They were taking a little-known path to the next city, and "little-known" usually just meant unused. Fenris's feet were taking a beating, while Merrill's pale skin was reddening fast. No one was happy, but no one wanted to say anything, not when Hawke's face had been stuck in such a grimace for so long.

"We need to rest," said Fenris finally, the exhaustion making it come out like a growl.

Hawke didn't argue, just sat down, her frown softening a tiny bit. Merrill let out a soft pained noise as she sat, while Fenris folded his legs under him. It felt strange, with only the three of them. He wondered vaguely, before he caught himself, where the abomination was.

They hadn't been sitting for more than five minutes before they began to hear the sound of marching. Fenris bolted up, Hawke at his side. Merrill stayed on the ground, hand on her staff.

They were standing on the ledge overhanging a large clearing, and together he and Hawke peered over it to see a large group of Tal-Vashoth marching through the forest. Fenris relaxed slightly. While they didn't look friendly, as long as they stayed out of their way they should be fine.

Fenris glanced over at Hawke, ready to say this. He was surprised to find her staring at them intently, brow furrowed.

"What's wrong?" he said quietly.

"Watch," she said.

He turned his attention back to the Tal-Vashoth, who were headed, now that he looked closely, for a path with a huge boulder blocking it right in the middle there was no way around. The Tal-Vashoth had to see that.

As they crouched in the bushes (Merrill had joined them by now, dying of curiosity), the Tal-Vashoth party stopped. One person was shoved forward by the others, but he wasn't Qunari. It was hard to see from their distance, but the person was probably a human. Too tall to be an elf.

They raised their hands in front of them, as though they were trying to do a stance they couldn't quite complete. Fenris wasn't sure, but he thought their hands might have been chained together. A second later, a burst of blue magic shot from their outstretched palms and into the boulder, shattering it.

"That's a mage," said Hawke, fingers flexing for the huge staff on her back. "And what's more, that was a force spell. Kirkwall magic."

Fenris sighed. He could see where this was going. "It's unfortunate that one of the mages got caught," he said testily. "But we did what we could."

"No," she said. "That's not just _any _mage. That was a huge spell. Not just anyone could do it."

"Do you...know them?" Fenris knew it wouldn't matter of she did.

Hawke grasped the staff behind her and pulled it out. Fenris moved to the side to avoid it and growled slightly.

"We're going down there, aren't we?" said Merrill. "I didn't know you liked Orsino that much."

They turned to stare at her.

_"What?"_

"You can't tell?" chirped Merrill. "How many mages have we known who're that powerful without a staff?"

"They're too tall," said Fenris.

Merrill giggled. "He was the tallest elf in Kirkwall."

Fenris and Hawke squinted down at the figure, who was being shuffled back into the group. In the right light, it looked like it could be him...Fenris glanced at Hawke's staff, the black three-headed dragon she'd stolen off Orsino's unconscious body. She'd claimed it was only fair for him attempting to do blood magic and making her knock him out, but even Fenris had wondered at leaving him there with no staff and no idea what the future held.

"Do you really want to save him?" asked Fenris, but it was too late, Hawke had jumped down into the clearing.

He sighed and unsheathed his sword.

* * *

When the attack came, Orsino wasn't thinking. He fell into that, the mindlessness, because it was easy. It was easy not to think and not to feel, to do as he was told. If he thought too much then he would remember what he'd lost and how he'd failed, and that hurt.

When the first blast of magic hit he was thrown to the ground. He covered his head with his hands, staying in place and wondering whether he wanted to die or not.

A rough hand was pulling at him and he let it. The Tal-Vashoth treasured him as a slave, he knew, and wouldn't let him be blown apart.

"First Enchanter."

No one called him that anymore.

"Come on," hissed a voice next to his ear. "Run."

He hadn't heard that voice in months. He'd thought he never would again. It kick-started his mind, a flood of memories hitting him all at once. _Hawke._

He ran with her.


	2. Chapter 2

I don't think I've ever taken so long for an update- there was a while I wasn't sure I would finish the fic, but I did, so now I'll update accordingly. Warnings for past abuse and mild gore.

* * *

The Tal-Vashoth were dead, but Hawke didn't stop running for a long time. When she did, Merrill raced to meet her while Fenris caught up, all of them crowding around the person she held by the arm.

She hadn't gotten a good look, but it was undeniably him. Even hunched over, he towered over Merrill Fenris and her. His gray hair was filthy and matted, his robes in tatters, but it was him.

"How does it feel to be a free man?" she said jokingly.

Merrill and Fenris, who were facing him, shot her quick serious looks. Orsino didn't answer.

"Hey," said Hawke. "What's wrong? Did you get injured in the fight?"

Then Orsino turned to face her, and she knew. Tal-Vashoth still had some of the prejudices of the Qunari, even if they didn't have all the same beliefs.

They'd turned him into a Saarebas.

He avoided her gaze when she stared at the stitches carved over his mouth, the gruesome injuries still bleeding and scabbed over in some places.

"Oh," she said. "I didn't know."

"Obviously," said Fenris.

"Well," said Hawke awkwardly. "Let's get that off you."

Orsino stepped away, making alarmed muffled noises. He was frighteningly thin, his formerly pale skin burned and cracked. Hawke reached out her hand. "Look, I know we have a history," she said. Orsino's eyes flicked to her staff, and she blushed. Maybe it wasn't a wise idea to flaunt the Staff of Violation in front of him. "Please," she continued. "We can hash out all that later. Let us help you now."

Orsino nodded slightly, holding out his arms slightly. Ah, yes, the cuffs. She'd have to get those off him as soon as possible. She glanced down and realized he had leg cuffs on too. They hadn't been taking any chances, even with him staff-less.

"Hawke," said Fenris tensely. "We should get moving. The Tal-Vashoth might have friends."

"But we need to get the stitches off," said Hawke hesitantly.

"I think he's right," said Merrill. She turned to Orsino. "We'll take care of you as soon as we can, okay? I promise."

Orsino was an older elf, and Hawke could see the tiredness in his eyes as he nodded once more. He was worn out, and although she was sure he could walk while chained, she knew that's what the Tal-Vashoth had been doing to him. She didn't want that, but she didn't have any other choice right then.

"Merrill, take care of him," she said sharply. "Let's go."


	3. Chapter 3

Warning- This chapter has discussions of past rape and abuse.

* * *

When they finally stopped running, the metal cuffs had begun to chafe at him again, breaking through scabs to rub against raw skin. He shivered, wondering what whim of theirs had taken him from the Tal-Vashoth.

They miraculously found an inn, but they left Orsino outside with the female mage as they went in. He would draw too much attention, Hawke told him, and he was too frightening. She talked like it was his fault. It wasn't as if he'd done this to himself.

"How are you feeling?" asked the mage, Merrill, cheerily.

Orsino didn't know how she wanted him to reply, so he didn't do anything at all. Merrill blushed.

"Oh, I forgot," she murmured. "I'm really sorry! I wasn't trying to make fun of you or anything, I just thought...I'm sorry. Hawke always tells me I'm too daft. I'm not sure how daft she wants me to be, though, so it's hard to tell when to stop. Like now. I'm annoying you, aren't I?"

It had been a long time since anyone had addressed so many words to Orsino. It overwhelmed him to the point that he didn't move.

He had counted on dying with the Tal-Vashoth. He was old, not that old, perhaps, but old enough that staying with them would have killed him eventually. He'd lost everything, failed in every way, and didn't see why he should be alive when all those he had been put in charge of were dead.

"Why haven't you used blood magic?" whispered Merrill, looking at him with big eyes. "You tried to before. It's why Hawke knocked you out. Why didn't you use it to escape, or even to...to die?"

Because he'd been desperate, more desperate than he'd ever been in his life, and he'd wanted to save people. He was no longer desperate, just empty. There was no one to save. But he couldn't say this, and Merrill knew it. He turned away from her with a clink of chains. He didn't like being used for someone else's quest for acceptance.

"Sorry we took so long!"

It was Hawke and the man called Fenris, returning from the inn.

"I paid for two rooms, plus I paid extra so we could have use of their baths by ourselves for a bit. Let's get you cleaned up."

He let them lead him through the back door and up some stairs to the baths, Merrill and Fenris in tow.

"Go downstairs and eat," ordered Hawke. "I'll take care of him. I'm the only one with healing spells."

Fenris sniffed. "We're elves, Hawke. People will be rude if we go by ourselves."

"You're big kids," said Hawke coldly. "I'm not doing this with you around. Go downstairs."

They shuffled out, leaving Orsino and Hawke in the baths by themselves. When he looked at Hawke, all he could see was the Staff of Violation. She'd knocked him out and taken it from him, and when he'd woken up he'd been unable to protect himself properly.

The first thing Hawke did was freeze and break the shackles on his wrists and ankles. He flexed his fingers and cracked them, rubbing his scabbed, chafed wrists ruefully. He felt strange, like he'd didn't know what to with his arms and legs, which suddenly felt long and unmanageable.

"Do you want to get the stitches off or take a bath first?"

He pointed to his mouth. He'd had nothing to say with the Tal-Vashoth, but now that he was with Hawke he felt the desire to speak bubble up inside him. Knowing there was a possibility of it made it all the more tantalizing.

She retrieved several items from her bag, including a couple of strong health potions, a knife, and some bandages.

"Hm," she said, obviously thinking out loud. "Would you like to drink a health potion first? It might make it hurt less."

If he drank a health potion beforehand, his skin would heal over the stitches and make them even worse to remove. He shook his head, unable to explain. She seemed dubious but respected his choice.

When she took the knife to his mouth, Orsino didn't flinch. He'd had worse done to him in the past few months than she could ever inflict.

She deftly cut the first line of cord and began taking it out by taking it back through the holes it had come through. Blood quickly began to stream down his chin, but he didn't move or make a sound. Hawke was quick, he'd give her that, and cut the cord out of his mouth with swift determination.

Soon the line of cord was piled on the ground and she was pouring a health potion into his mouth and rubbing it into his skin. He could feel the skin knitting together and finally closed his eyes in pain.

"I can't stop it from scarring," she said apologetically. "The stitches were in too long."

He nodded. He hadn't expected any less.

"You had scars like this already, though," she continued, furrowing her brow. "That's weird."

"I ripped them out the first time," he rasped, using his throat for the first time in months. He coughed harshly into his hand. "Water."

Her hand was shaking when she passed him the water skin. He drank from it greedily, water mixing with blood as it splashed down his chin.

"Are you hungry?"

Maker, yes. The Tal-Vashoth had always laughed at him when he'd tried to eat, attempting to stick tiny pieces of food through the stitches. Sometimes they'd given him extra food just to mock him when he failed at his attempts.

"You can speak," she reminded him gently.

His lips were burning and his jaw ached. When he opened his mouth he heard something crack. "I'm starving," he admitted, sending himself into another coughing fit.

She pulled several biscuits and an actual stew kept in a skin. She apologized for not having a spoon, but he just poured it into his mouth. It burned the back of his throat so badly he felt tears rise, but he didn't care.

"Slow down," advised Hawke as he chewed the biscuits. "You'll make yourself sick."

He did as he was told, if only out of habit. He ate slowly as he watched her retrieve a set of clothes from her apparently bottomless bag.

"You done?" she asked the very moment he'd swallowed the last bit of biscuit. "We've got to get you a bath."

He let her undress him in silence. He was thinking. He could remember Kirkwall, when his days were filled with responsibilities, when screaming matches with Meredith were a daily occurrence, when he'd tried and failed to protect the hundreds he'd been in charge of. They were all dead, and he lived.

"Are you there, Orsino? Talk to me."

"I'm not used to talking," he admitted.

"That's fine," she said. "Get in the tub."

She'd finished stripping him, and he was dismayed to see how thin he was, how his ribs stuck out and the bruises shone against his cracked skin. Hawke's eyes slid over the handprint-bruises on his hips and thighs and he wondered if she realized what they meant.

"How long have you been with them?" asks Hawke in what she probably thought is a comforting voice. The woman was not built for comforting.

He slid into the bath and sighed, realizing that he hadn't bathed since the Tal-Vashoth had dunked him in a lake a few weeks earlier. He could feel the dirt flaking off him.

"They intercepted the templar party taking me to prison," he said. "Maybe five days after the Chantry explosion."

"You've been with those Tal-Vashoth for over six months?" asked Hawke, sounding shocked as she picked up lye soap and a brush, handing them to him.

"I didn't know how long it was." Orsino realized how absolutely tired he sounded but couldn't find it within himself to care. It was a reflection of how he felt.

"It must have been awful." Hawke's voice was choked now. Orsino didn't remember her being quite so emotional.

"My role was simple," he said quietly. "I was to use magic when needed, and to submit. Submitting is not so hard once you've given up your pride."

"You had a lot of pride," said Hawke. "I respected you for it."

Orsino let out a small, slightly hysterical laugh and began speaking, maybe because he wanted to tell someone what had happened to him, maybe because he relished being able to speak at all. "I kept that for a little while. It was pride that made me rip out my first stitches, pride that stopped me from screaming when they sewed those stitches in the first place. It was pride that made me fight it when they spread my legs for the first time, and it was only when I gave it up that it all stopped hurting so much."

He shook her head, scrubbing harder to avoid looker at Marian Hawke. "My role was to submit, and that was easy enough in the long run."


	4. Chapter 4

Warnings for past rape and abuse.

* * *

Marian could hardly look at Orsino, at the man he'd become. At the man her actions had turned him into. She considered herself a good person. She was harsh sometimes, but she almost always did what she thought was right.

But when she'd knocked Orsino to the ground and taken his staff and his ring in retribution for him turning on her (for his part in the death of his mother, if she was honest, if she dug deep enough) she had sentenced him to this life. She was in a way responsible for what they did to him, for the torture and the cruelty and the abuse...for the rape. She was responsible for all of it.

She'd been the one who destroyed him. Even if part of her was still angry with him, she'd have to be the one to help him. She had to fix what she'd done.

"C'mon," she grumbled. "That's half-hearted scrubbing if I've ever seen it."

She grabbed the brush from him, not caring that warm water was splashing on her hands. She pulled his thin frame towards her and began to scrub his back none-too-gently. She knew she had to be rough to get rid of the layers of dirt, and she wanted his back to her in case she started to tear up.

The old Orsino would never have let her do this. He would have protested to high heaven and shut her out, insisting that he take care of himself no matter how injured. He'd have taken his staff back by force and sneered at her for what she'd done to him.

But that wasn't the man that she was scrubbing in the warm water in front of her. She needed to accept that.

"You can travel with us if you want," she said. "I'd like you to, actually. We're two towns over from the Antivan border. When we cross it we're going to meet up with 'Bela and get on a ship. Before now you've probably never seen much of the world...and you still haven't seen it properly."

"I've been on a ship before," said Orsino, voice still horribly cracked and broken. "I was taken to the Circle on a ship."

"I didn't know that," admitted Marian. "I know so little about you, First Enchanter. I'd like to change that."

The moment she finished her sentence she knew she'd done something wrong. His back stiffened under the brush. She turned him around so that he was facing her. His features were so hard and angry she thought she saw a bit of the Orsino she'd known in Kirkwall.

"Don't call me that," he spat. "I failed utterly at First Enchanter. I failed everyone. Why should I live when they are dead, or worse, in Meredith's hands? I am not worthy of that title, no matter how empty it may be."

She met his eyes and stared at him in horror. Oh no. _No. _She'd done him a greater injustice than she thought possible.

"Orsino," she whispered. "They're not all dead. There were heavy casualties, but over two hundred mages made it out alive. We saved them, and you helped." Until he'd given into despair...but she thought it better not to mention that right then.

Orsino's mouth dropped, and his murky green eyes searched hers in disbelief. Tears welled in his eyes, tracking down his face instantly as his jaw quivered. "You're lying," he said. "Please don't be this cruel. Please don't do this to me. I have enough torments."

"I'm not lying," she assured him, pressing her lips together in an effort to keep her composure, "I promise you it's true."

"I thought," he whimpered. "I thought all this time...Everyone was dead. I don't know what to...to say, I-"

And without warning he grasped the front of her robes and began to sob, thin fingers clutching at her fabric as she held his naked body close, not caring as the water soaked her clothes.


	5. Chapter 5

Warnings for minor sexual allusions probably? It's been a while since I read it.

* * *

Hawke said she'd found the clothes he was wearing in a barrel along the road, and he believed her. They were loose on him, very baggy, and smelled like old apples. He folded up his ragged old robes, knowing they needed to be thrown away but unwilling to do so. He'd been wearing them since Kirkwall. They were the last vestige of his past life.

His _terrible_ life. This one wasn't much better, but he could have some kind of life still. The realization hit him like a brick. He hadn't failed everyone. He hadn't been the kind of man he'd wanted to be, but some of the mages he'd cared for still lived. He'd cried for long enough in Hawke's arms, so he wiped his eyes fast and rejoined the rest of the party.

They looked strange to the rest of the people in the inn, he knew. Three elves, two of them mages, with the mage Champion of Kirkwall heading their group.

Regardless, Hawke had good money, and all the trouble they were gathering was in a few dirty looks.

"Are those your old robes?" she asked as he sat.

He nodded.

"I'd keep them, but they're..." she began cautiously, sniffing at them warily.

"I understand," he rasped.

"Oh, good, you're speaking again!" piped up Merrill in her lilting accent. "Although those are some nasty scars, can't Hawke do anything about them?"

Orsino hadn't been concerned about the scarring until now, still reeling with the shock that _everything wasn't lost._ He hadn't even considered his looks (what little he supposed he had) until Merrill pointed it out.

"Merrill," hissed Hawke. "That was rude."

"Does, anyone have a mirror?" he asked quietly, glancing at the others' food wistfully. He wasn't going to ask her to buy him any, but he could wish.

"Sorry," apologized Hawke. "Not on me."

She caught his gaze on the food and swore loudly. "I didn't order you anything, did I? Of course a measly stew isn't going to hold you over, not when you've been practically starved by Tal-Vashoth. Can I get someone over here?" She began to wave for a waitress.

"Say that any louder, could you?" he grumbled, secretly relieved he could eat more.

The tavern they were in was a pleasant one, for a roadside inn. Orsino had read about them and see them on his travels with the Tal-Vashoth. With a twinge of guilt he remembered that they'd made him use his magic on one just like this, forcing him to blow it up. Suddenly feeling sick, he focused his gaze on the table.

"Are you all right?" asked Hawke.

Before he had a chance to reply, they were attacked.

* * *

Zevran Arainai loved his Warden.

Truly, he did. They been together since the Blight, nearly seven years now, and were quite literally growing old together. Not that old, of course. He was not that old.

He loved Mahariel, had for ages, and suspected he always would.

That didn't mean he didn't know his Warden was an idiot.

For one, he hadn't even noticed as the four newcomers, too busy drinking and whispering naughty things into Zev's ear. But Zevran did, watching them come in separately, first the awkward elves, both tattooed. He was fairly sure he recognized one of them. And then...an elven man he didn't know, battered and beaten, followed by, well...Zevran could hardly believe Maiti Mahariel was still alive, if he couldn't even recognize _her._

He was sitting on his Warden's lap, lazily caressing his thigh with one calloused palm, when the Crows attacked. He kissed Mahariel fast, jumping up and unsheathing his twin blades. His job in fights was to delay the enemies long enough for the Warden to lift that big sword of his; when he did that the fight was essentially over.

Out of the corner of his eye he saw the table of people stand...and two staffs lighting up. Mages. He laughed loudly, knowing things were about to get interesting.

* * *

When the fight was over, the first thing Hawke did was check for Orsino. He was fine, crouched in the corner, eyes down...but fine. Fenris was breathing hard, Merrill was massaging her ankle, and she herself was uninjured. She leaned down, realizing the dead men were Crows.

The last time she'd fought Crows was...

"Hawke! It has been some time, no?"

She looked up, smiling already spreading across her face. "Zevran?"

The small elf was deftly cleaning his glades, grinning at her all the while. "Fancy meeting you here, Champion."

"I have to pee," announced Merrill, disappearing into the side room. She didn't have the best timing, but Hawke didn't mind.

The mess around them was obscene, the innkeeper seeming too scared to approach them, so Hawke focused her attention back to Zevran.

"What're you doing here?" she asked casually.

"You're asking an Antivan what he's doing two towns from the Antivan border?"

She shook her head. "You know what. Never mind."

"Who's this?"

She'd never heard that deep voice before. From a corner of the inn a large elf emerged, wiping his own huge sword.

"Weird, fighting without my armor," he grumbled. "Too light."

Next to Zevran, this elf looked ridiculously pale as he swept a lock of sweaty red hair behind his ear. A big elf, Marian thought, dwarfing them all in sheer muscle. He wasn't especially tall though, all his bulk stuffed into a frame designed for a much smaller man.

He grinned at them then, his mouth splitting wide and stretching the pale tattoos that spanned his face.

"Are you his Warden?" she asked, grinning. "Zev talked about you with such an _adoring _tone..."

She really hadn't expected him to react to that, being the fabled Hero of Ferelden and all, but the big man turned bright pink. "Isn't he sweet?" he gushed. "Zev makes fun of me when we're together, but everyone says he says the nicest things when we're apart."

Zevran rolled his eyes, patting his Warden on the cheek. "You know I love you."

He turned to Hawke and Fenris, Orsino still several feet behind them and Merrill in the bathroom. "This is an interesting party you have here. I haven't seen you since Kirkwall."

Zevran had, against all odds, turned up for the fight against Meredith. He'd disappeared the day after, claiming he had plans. Marian had a sneaking suspicion the big dumb elf had been those plans.

"We're heading to Antiva," she said. "My girlfriend's getting a ship there for us...then who knows?"

"My favorite kind of plan," replied Zevran easily.

The Warden and Zevran exchanged a long, even look, at the end of which the Warden sighed and Zevran grinned. Hawke took the time to retrieve Orsino from the wall, grasping his hand and pulling him forward.

"Really?" whined the big elf. "Now?"

"It'll be fun, love."

"You'd better be careful."

"I will, don't doubt I will."

"See you in the usual place."

"Of course."

Then they kissed, both very passionately and extremely sloppily; the rest of them had to look away.

When they parted, Zevran gripped Mahariel's arm tightly before wading through the mess to Hawke.

"I'll be joining your party," he announced cheerily. "As long as you don't have any objections."

Hawke wasn't given the opportunity to reply due to Merrill's return and subsequent sighting of Mahariel, who was more than a little surprised to meet one of his own in the middle of a destroyed inn two towns from the Antivan border.

"Merrill!?"

"Maiti!"

The hugging was almost sickening, as was the way he twirled her around in the air, both of them giggling. Then they moved into squeezing each other, and she had to look away again.

"Fenris," she said. "Would you like to be the one to talk to the innkeeper about this mess?"

Fenris raised his eyebrows. "No."

She sighed. "Please?"

"Don't worry," said Zev easily. "My Warden can do it. He's a people person."

They all watched the big elf swing Merrill around.

"Why do you want to come with?"

"Why not?

Marian dropped the smile she'd been wearing. "Zevran. We're wanted, you know. A lot of people want me dead."

"And if I join you, more people will want you dead. Did you honestly think that would dissuade me?"

Marian glanced at Zevran carefully. "You're going to have to be discreet."

"You wound me! I am always discreet."

Marian snorted. "Fine. You can come along, Ser Discreet."

"Oh, I know."


	6. Chapter 6

Warning for some strong/explicit language?

* * *

"Would you like some water, Orsino?"

He nodded, fingers fumbling for the skin. They had set up a camp in the wild. There was a proper tent for Orsino- Hawke didn't make him sit outside in the cold tethered to a post like the Tal-Vashoth had. His own tent, which he didn't quite understand. Everyone else was sharing one but him.

He drank the water Merrill was offering him sloppily, letting it slosh down his chin. He wiped his scarred mouth with the back of his hand and gave the water skin back to Merrill.

They'd decided to camp for a few days, taking the Antivan's word that there was a large group of bandits in the next town. Hawke hadn't liked her performance in the battle against the Tal-Vashoth, so she was taking the time to hone her skills and work on their abilities as a team. Something like that. Orsino had the nagging suspicion that she was only doing it to give Orsino time to…recover, maybe?

"Can I talk to you for a minute, Orsino?"

He was shaken out of his reverie by the chipper voice of Merrill, who apparently wasn't only talking to him for the purpose of giving him something to drink.

"If you must," he said tiredly.

Merrill fiddled with her hair, which was quite a bit longer than Orsino remember it being back in Kirkwall. His was too, though, although he had a feeling his long hair looked much less attractive on him.

"I did something bad," the Dalish elf admitted. "Although I didn't really realize how bad it was at the time. Oh, I don't know how to explain myself!"

"I'm afraid I don't know either," he said flatly.

"I have your ring," whispered Merrill. "Hawke gave it to me after- after what happened with Meredith. She sort of implied you were dead when she gave it to me. I see now that you are not."

"No, I am not," he said. "Despite my wishes at the time."

"Don't say things like that! Even if you mean them," admonished Merrill. "Anyway, your ring. I want you to have it back."

Hawke, who still wielded the Staff of Violation in front of him, flashed through his mind. He decided he liked Merrill.

Merill pulled his signet ring off her thumb, which apparently had been the only finger it would fit on for her. He took it from her, staring for a short moment at the Circle of Magi symbol on the front. A dangerous item to carry throughout Thedas. Then again, he was the former First Enchanter, and he was traveling with someone who was carrying a far more recognizable symbol of his office. Again he thought of his Staff.

He attempted to slide the ring onto his first finger, where he'd always worn it, but found that he'd lost too much weight. He ended up having to take Merrill's approach, pushing it onto his thumb the way she'd had it. What did it say, that he was approximately the same weight as the much shorter woman?

"Do you like having it back?" asked Merrill eagerly.

"I'm not sure," he said hoarsely. "I did just get it back, you know."

"Is there anything else I can get for you?" asked Merrill.

He hesitated. "Why are you so helpful?"

"Hawke told me to take care of you, back when we were running from the Tal-Vashoth. She never told me to stop."

Of course it couldn't be any affection for Orsino himself.

"A mirror," he said. "I'd like a mirror."

Merrill opened her mouth, presumably to tell him she didn't have a mirror, when the Antivan walked by and apparently overheard this part of the conversation.

"I have a mirror," said Zevran, bending down to sit on his haunches so he could talk to them easier. "I'll let you use it, if you so like."

Orsino was nervous around the Antivan, although he wasn't entirely sure why. Maybe it was how flippant he was, or how easily he'd left the Warden of Ferelden. It made him wonder how faithful he could be to their journey, if he so easily flitted from group to group. It had been days, however, and he still didn't know what the scars on his mouth looked like.

"Yes," he said. "I would like that."

"You know, if you'd like a brush, I can lend you one of those too," said Zevran, grinning. Orsino didn't laugh.

Zevran led Orsino to his tent, which he shared with Fenris. The lyrium-tattooed elf was sitting on a tree stump right outside the tent, sharpening his sword. He nodded to Orsino and Zevran and returned to his work.

The tent was nearly as sparsely furnished as Orsino's own (he was sleeping on a borrowed bedroll, and had only the clothes given to him by Hawke to wear). Zevran, despite how much time he boasted to spend on his appearance, had only one small pack. He dug around for a bit and fished out a small mirror, handing it to Orsino.

Orsino wiped a bit of grime off its surface and looked into it, the first time he'd seen his reflection since Kirkwall, aside from occasionally glancing at still water. He looked thin, tired, his gray hair long and tangled. His eyes bored into him, their largeness now accentuated by the thinness of his face, making him look strange and even insect-like.

When he finally looked down to his mouth, he felt something in his chest sink, an unexplainable feeling that made his fingers shake as he held the mirror. The scars were thin but deep, and there were so many, some from the first time he had ripped his stiches out, some from when Hawke had cut them.

He ran his fingers over them, feeling the ridges under his calloused fingertips. If one knew anything about mages or Qunari, they would be able to guess what had happened to him. He was marked for life.

"Come now," said Zevran, a slightly admonishing tone in his voice. "You don't need to look so devastated. They're not so bad."

Orsino handed the mirror back to Zevran, unable to stomach the sight of his scarred mouth any longer.

"They're bad enough," he said.

Zevran raised his eyebrows, examining Orsino. "I'd still kiss you, if you'd let me," he said.

Orsino was quite taken aback by this. "I don't need your pity," he snapped. "Especially when it would mean you cheating on that Warden. He seems quite enamored with you, what would he say?"

"Last time I met up with my Warden I walked in on him sucking some rather glorious cock," said Zevran, smirking. "We have a rather open relationship."

Zevran dropped the smirk and smiled at him more earnestly. "I only meant to compliment you before. Please, don't take my words too seriously. And pity certainly didn't motivate them."

Orsino nodded shortly. "Thank you for letting me use your mirror. I'll be going now."

Zevran sighed. "No problem, my friend. I apologize if I made you uncomfortable."

Orsino didn't remember agreeing to be Zevran's friend. He stood and left the tent without a second glance.

The next morning he found a brush sitting outside his tent.


	7. Chapter 7

If I need to give any warnings, then they wouldn't be any different than the previous chapters. I haven't read it in a while.

* * *

Even taking a piss was difficult these days. His hands shook and he hated doing it around people, not to mention that Merrill seemed determined to follow him everywhere. Once when he was looking for a suitable place for it he accidentally walked in on Zevran with his cock out, his urine splashing against a tree. Orsino would try to forget the cheery wave Zevran had given him, but no matter hard he tried, he couldn't get it out of his mind.

If only that was the least of his problems. He felt like there was a pressure building up inside him, one that only continued to rise as the weight of his actions and his life grew. The more he thought about it the more he despaired. He had done terrible things in Kirkwall- not with his own hands but with a web of lies and careful omissions he'd learned to make so well in his position as First Enchanter. He had dulled his own mind so that he'd never noticed the terrible things his fri- Quentin (no, he wanted to say, his friend, they had grown up together, they'd been friends and comrades his whole life, Quentin had been there for him after-

"Orsino?"

He was snapped out of his quiet brooding with a gentle question from Hawke. As gentle as the harsh woman could make her voice, at least. Orsino did not know where he stood with her. He had told her the truth of what had been done to him, but still- every time he looked at her saw the terrible result of his inactivity. He knew Hawke saw him for the pathetic man he was every time she dropped her gaze to him.

"Orsino, you're going to get sick out here," she said.

He looked around and realized it was raining. He was almost soaked.

"Orsino," she said again. "You can talk."

He had forgotten. He forgot more often than he would like to admit. The ability to speak was no longer instinctive to him- something he knew Knight-Commander Meredith would have given a great deal for back in Kirkwall.

"Yes," he finally rasped. "I'll go to my tent."

She helped him up, steadying him as he stumbled on a few gnarled old roots. She even walked with him to his tent, the Staff of Violation scraping the ground behind her. The noise put his nerves on edge. He must have visibly tensed, because Hawke quickly asked, "What's wrong?"

"Nothing," he said dully, because what do you say to the woman who helped bring the world crashing down around your ears?

"Orsino…"

He paused at the flap of his tent, looking back at her. She seemed to be wavering on the edge of some choice.

"When was the last time you did some proper training?" she asked suddenly.

He stared at her. "I think you know the answer to that question."

She choked out an uncomfortable laugh and nodded. "I guess I do. I was thinking- you're a very experienced mage, and I'm trying to brush up on my skills and all. Maybe you could help me out, spar with me."

"You mean maybe I can brush up on _my_ skills."

"Maker, Orsino, you sure can't give me a break," she said weakly. "It's a combination of both, if you want the truth. Let me get you one of our spare staffs and we care train, if you're up for it."

No, he almost said. Absolutely not. I don't want to fight. You don't know what the Tal-Vashoth made me do. You have no idea.

"Okay," he said.

He stood there waiting as Hawke disappeared to rummage through their supplies. When she came back she threw him a staff, barely giving him enough time to register that she was there before he was fumbling to catch it.

"Sorry, she said apologetically, frowning. "I didn't think- I shouldn't have-"

"Just means my reflexes aren't what they should be," he replied, before pushing past her and heading towards a clearing he knew Hawke had been using as a training ground.

There was obvious evidence of it too- the moment he stepped into the tree-less circle he noticed the singed spots on the ground where the grass had been burned away. Looking up he noticed that many of the leaves on the nearby trees had suffered the same treatment. A rock was lying overturned and half-frozen in the middle of the circle.

Hawke saw his gaze and said, "A failed experiment. If it had gone right the damn thing would still be frozen."

Orsino looked down at the staff in his hands. Decent balance, although different from what he was used to. He didn't quite like the weight of it. The wood was cracked under his fingers and beginning to splinter. He'd have to be careful not to let it dig into his palm (though doubtless it would anyway). He was fairly sure from the energy radiating off it that it was a fire staff- he wondered if she'd even considered that he hadn't worked with anything like this since before he'd become First Enchanter. The Staff of Violation was, after all, a spirit damage staff.

"Ready?" she called.

He glanced up to see Hawke taking a battle position. Fear flared in him, and he gripped the staff and thrust it forward instinctively. It was the wrong thing to do. Hawke took this as a yes and fired a shot of spirit magic at him. He dropped the staff and raised his hands, repelling the burst with a quick shield that drained his mana.

"What was _that?" _yelled Hawke from across the clearing. She bounded over, an incredulous look on her face.

"I repelled it," he said, swallowing hard and shifting away from her.

"Yes," she said. "With your hands."

"The Tal-Vashoth didn't want me using a staff. They thought it might help me escape."

"So you did it without one?"

"They required me to use my magic for certain tasks," he said, confused by her reaction. "Did you not rescue me from them when I was breaking a boulder for them?"

"You're right," she said, her facial expression mirroring the kind that people get when they realize they're being foolish. "You were. I guess I didn't realize. It's just…staff-less magic is hard. Uncontrollable."

"I was taught to control it," he said. She opened her mouth to say something, but he cut her off. "No, I cannot teach you. I was only taught because I needed to know. When your options are being beaten and worse and using your magic the best you can, it is an obvious choice. I learned through necessity."

She seemed displeased by this. "So it's hard. I'm sure I can learn."

"It's not- it's not conscious," he said, unnerved that she wasn't listening to him. "I don't always know if it will work. Please. I need to get accustomed to using magic normally again, not continuing to rely on something this unreliable."

He bent over and picked the staff back up, feeling her eyes on him. People did not often say no to Marian Hawke.

"Fine," she said finally, tone cool. "We'll practice normally."

She was not easy on him after that. She gave him very little time to adjust to having a staff again, and the first several rounds were him frantically dodging or blocking her attacks. It was some time before he felt confident in sending one her away, and even longer before it hit. When it did hit, though, it sent her sprawling on the grass.

"You're powerful," she called out to him. "I can see why they made you First Enchanter."

They had made him First Enchanter for several reasons, few of them pertaining to his magical prowess. He said nothing about it, responding by taking the battle stance once again.

It was several hours before they were finished, Hawke jogging over to him tiredly and telling him cheerily that he'd done very well, earlier anger seemingly forgotten. He was still uneasy and only managed a weak smile as she collapsed in the grass, almost instantly falling asleep. This seemed unwise to him. Anyone could come and attack her while she slept. Even the greatest warrior can't defend themselves if their throat is already slit.

He sat down next to her, wiping sweat out of his eyes with one hand and sticking the staff in the ground with the other. It was nearing dusk, and he knew that shaking Hawke awake wouldn't work. She was too deep of a sleeper. He'd just have to wait it out.


	8. Chapter 8

No warnings. Short chapter this time.

* * *

When she woke, she stretched and yawned and smiled lazily to find that the sun was just coming up above the trees. Then she sat up, bewildered, not only because she had a crick in her neck but because this meant she slept _all night._

She saw a shadowy figure out of the corner of her eye and jumped a bit, reaching for the Staff of Violation where it lay next to her. Then she realized it was Orsino, sitting on the grass, staff across his knees. He looked exhausted, dark bags combined with his already pallid skin. As she watched he sighed a little and smoothed back his gray hair. A habit he'd carried over from the days before the fall of Kirkwall.

"Have you been sitting here this whole time?" she asked, voice coming out in a surprised whisper.

"It was dangerous," he said, not reacting much to her waking up. "I couldn't leave you here."

"I'm sure nothing would have happened," she protested weakly.

"I killed three wolves."

"Oh," she said. "Thank you."

He stood, shaking out sore limbs. "Are you ready to go back to camp? They're probably worried."

"Yeah," she said, mussing her hair so that it was back to its preferred state of messiness. "They're probably really worried."

"I couldn't leave to tell them," he said, almost apologetically. "What if a wolf had come?"

"I understand," she said, feeling very guilty for inadvertently making the oldest, most exhausted member of their party stay up all night.

He walked in front of her as they went back, back straight. He was a very different man than he had once been, yes, but some things never changed.


	9. Chapter 9

No warnings, I think.

* * *

"No, no, I really don't think I can take this any longer."

The confusion on the old mage's face was delicious, but did not compare to when Zevran got to his point.

"Your hair is really horrifying me, you know that? I can hardly look at it any longer. If there were any children around here to scare, it would be making them run in terror."

The confusion turned into annoyance. Amazing how quickly it could happen.

Zevran shook his head, tutting. In actuality he found Orsino's hair irritating, but not actually that offensive. The poor man just looked so gloomy that he felt the need to intervene and try to bring some joy into his life.

"Come now," he said, pulling the man up by his arm. Orsino obeyed, but with an uneasy lurch Zevran wondered if it was real compliance or beaten into him by his former Qunari masters.

"I thought giving you that brush in secret would be enough for me," he said conversationally as he tugged Orsino towards a particularly enticing tree stump. "But it's not. Even brushed your poor ragged split ends pain me."

"Do they?"

Orsino's voice was still so raspy. Zevran wondered if he had any of Mahariel's lozenges stuffed down his pack. His silly Warden still got a sore throat after a blowjob.

"They do," confirmed Zevran.

"Maybe I should leave them then," said Orsino, so flatly that Zevran almost didn't notice that he was making a joke.

"Nonsense!" cried Zevran, ignoring the jibe as he fished in his belt pouch for his knife. "We cannot have those bandits we face tomorrow thinking you are some sort of vagabond."

Orsino's face slackened with fear when Zevran pulled out the blade, making the rogue pause. "I am cutting your hair, not you," he assured. "I am skilled with this knife. We have been together as long as any lovers."

Orsino stopped looking fearful in favor of looking incredulous. "What are you implying?"

"Simply that I have owned this knife a long time," said Zevran. "Nothing more. You worry too much, friend."

Zevran set the blade down, deciding the man could use some easing into it. He brushed his hair instead, combing careful fingers through knots. He was clean. Orsino had been taking frequent baths, something Zevran could sympathize with, in the part of him that would admit to the abuse he had suffered in his younger years. When you went through something like that, you needed to tell yourself everything was okay in the best way you could.

Zevran made sure to tell Orsino when he started to cut his hairs, wishing out loud that he had a proper pair of scissors. He'd asked Hawke beforehand what Orsino's hair had been like when she'd known him in Kirkwall and made sure to leave in a bit longer. The man had enough reminders of his past staring him in the face. Zevran did not approve of the way Hawke continued to use Orsino's stolen staff in front of him.

"I am done," said Zevran. "Would you like to see yourself?"

"No," said Orsino, beginning to rise. Zevran prevented him with a gentle hand to the shoulder.

"You have been through quite a lot, no?" he began carefully. He struggled for words to continue, a rare occurrence for him. He decided that actions spoke louder than words and threaded his hand through Orsino's silver hair, pressing a chaste kiss to his temple.

"I apologize if that was unwelcome," he said instantly, regretting his decision. The man needed space, not unwelcome touching.

Orsino shook his head. It looked like he was…smiling? "No, it wasn't. Thank you for your kindness."

"I've said before," said Zevran. "It's not out of pity."

"I know," he replied. "I used the term _kindness_ for a reason."


	10. Chapter 10

No warnings, I think.

* * *

When Fenris left Kirkwall with Hawke, he hadn't expected to end up with another mage (the former First Enchanter no less) and an Antivan elf tagging along. He certainly hadn't expected having to share a tent with the Antivan. Yet here he was. He would follow Hawke to the ends of Thedas, it seemed.

The Antivan spent his time practicing his craft, working on elaborate traps and poisons or throwing his daggers into an unsuspecting tree, hitting his mark every time. When no one was watching him, he often lost the smile he had appeared to come with.

"Why are you here?"

He didn't know what would be the right time to interrupt the Antivan's continuous system of prattling, working, and training, so he chose training. It meant also getting a dagger in the face, but he wouldn't want to interrupt Hawke, who the Antivan talked to most often. He also talked to the First Enchanter a lot, and Fenris did not want to get near the man.

"Why do you ask?" said the smaller elf, winking at him with sickening audacity.

"You had no reason to come," he replied, crossing his arms. "And you serve no purpose here."

The Antivan laughed. "I like to have adventures, and this seemed like the place to be."

"That is the only reason?"

The Antivan shrugged and ran a hand through his thick blonde hair. Fenris had to admit, the tattoos were not unappealing. That is all he would admit, however.

"It is the only one I can think of."

"You make it sound so easy," he said.

Zevran laughed quietly. "Leaving your home is never easy, and mine is with my Warden. We always have each other though, and that is what matters."

"Ah," said Fenris, who sort of felt like that with Hawke, although he did not love her the same way. "Thank you for telling me."

"You're a good man," said Zevran, twirling one of his daggers in his fingers. "Sometimes I think you forget."

"You make no sense," said Fenris, grumbling.

"One of my many skills," said Zevran, smiling.


	11. Chapter 11

A mention or two of past abuse. Getting close to the end. :)

* * *

When they finally began to move their ragtag party again, it took less than a day to reach the little port town where Isabela waited with a ship. Orsino noticed a marked change in their leader. She began to smile when no one was looking and seemed far more distracted than usual.

He hadn't been on a ship in a long time. When he saw the ship he was supposed to go on, he realized he did not want to go one now.

Hawke had told him he could leave any time he wanted. Could he…take her up on that? Where would he go? What would he do? The possibilities left him with a sense of inescapable horror. Mostly horror, anyway. A little…what would he call it? Excitement? He'd never expected his life to lead him here.

"We'll leave tonight," said Hawke in the town's tavern, leaning across to whisper excitedly. Her face was alight with passion. "'Bela doesn't want to be spotted. She says she's got a really good plan- wants to swing by some shore cities and do a little innocent raiding."

"How innocent?" asked Merrill, tilting her head.

"Fairly," said Hawke. "She's become a regular Robin Hood. Gotta love her."

Orsino looked from face to face. Merrill, who had been nothing but kind to him, if sometimes a little overzealous. Fenris, his soft eyes contradicting the harsh smile. Zevran, who hid his compassion under a carefree exterior. And Hawke, who had both betrayed and saved him in his lifetime. He did not want to say this.

"I'm not going," he mumbled, eyes concentrated on the wooden table.

"What?" said Hawke.

"I don't want to go on that boat," he said. "It looks cramped, like…"

Like the holds the Tal-Vashoth had shoved him into. Like the slave quarters he had lived in. He did not want to admit this, so instead he finished with, "Like some places I've been."

"Are you sure?"

"Yes," he replied. He hadn't been until now.

Hawke nodded slowly. She looked troubled. He had a feeling he was getting in the way of her own redemption. He did not care.


	12. Chapter 12

Sorry for the delay! This is the last chapter, actually. I hope you enjoyed reading my fic, and thank you for doing so!

* * *

"Do you know the tale of First Enchanter Casimira?"

They were leaving. Orsino had come to see them off. Hawke had bought him new clothes, and although he still felt strange wearing normal, commoner clothing (he was not accustomed to wearing pants), he felt better. He felt more normal.

"No," said Hawke, obviously bewildered. "I don't."

He cracked his neck, a habit he used to have when beginning a story to an apprentice mage.

"She was the original First Enchanter of the Kirkwall Circle," he said. The wind whipped at their faces, but he ignored it. "She had the unenviable task of transforming a former slave prison into a livable home for mages, even as many of the apostates she had under her charge rebelled. She was a hard woman, but she did what she had to to stop the Right of Annullment from killing us all."

He looked up at the dark sky and sighed. "I always admired here, even though our situations were honestly rather different. I wanted to be able to brink my Circle from the brink of destruction. I wasn't able to."

"You weren't given a chance to," said Hawke softly.

Orsino shook his head. "I wouldn't have been able to. My actions in the Gallows proved that. Casimira died honorably- she was cut down by Templars after becoming possessed, holding off long enough so they would be able to take her down. I tried to do something incredibly foolish in a moment of desperation."

Hawke did not reply.

"They passed her staff down for generations," he said, staring steadfastly at the boat. "To remind each who held her position of both the danger and strength that she carried."

Hawke sighed, biting her lip. "I've been meaning to- it just hasn't seemed like the right- Orsino, I'm sorry for taking your staff. I know it's been a part of you all this time, and especially now, when we're parting ways, you should have it back."

"I didn't tell you that story so you would feel guilty and give it back," he said. "I did it so you would know of Casimira as I did. It's yours now."

He shrugged and tried to add casually, like the pain of giving up hope of ever getting his beloved staff back wasn't there, "I would be too conspicuous with it."

"Orsino," said Hawke. "I- I forgive you."

For what, she didn't specify. He wanted to ask if it was for his part in the death of her mother. He was too afraid to ask.

"Thank you," he said.

Hawke clapped him on the shoulder. He didn't even wince.

"Take care of yourself," she said, expression softening for a moment. "Don't let the rest of your life go to waste."

"Easier said than done," he replied. "You too, Champion."

She looked like she wanted to say more but didn't. She looked up the gangplank, where a woman wearing a large hat and carrying duel blades was waiting. Fenris nodded to him as he passed, not looking nearly as angry as usual. Merrill stopped to hug him on the way up, her head stopping at his chest. He didn't relish the unexpected contact, but he appreciated the sentiment behind it.

Zevran didn't walk onto the ship. Instead he waved cheerily. "I think I'll stay behind too," he called. "Can't let the old man get into too much fun on his own!"

Orsino stared at him with a mixture of confusion, horror, and a tiny bit of hope. Did that mean he was planning to stick around with him for a while? Why?

"See you, Zev!" shouted Merrill and Marian. Fenris shouted a gruff goodbye.

They walked away from the boat together, Orsino glancing at the shorter elf with curiosity.

"Don't try and give me the slip, now," said Zevran. "I think we'll be great friends."

"I wasn't planning on it," said Orsino, offering Zevran a smile. "I don't want to by myself just yet. I need…something. Time. Maybe not. I'm not quite sure what I need."

"We'll find it, my friend," said Zevran. "Whatever 'it' is."

He toyed with the signet ring on his thumb. "I hope we do."

Zevran wrapped an arm up and around his shoulder, squeezing him lightly. "It's early yet. What's say we go out and have a little fun?"

"What kind of fun?" he asked, stomach dropping in fear. "What does that mean, exactly?"

"It was a joke, do not worry," he said, smiling and letting go of him, realizing that Orsino didn't like to be touched. "There will be opportunities ahead for frivolity, I am sure."

They walked back to the inn together, Orsino's arms feeling long and unwieldy. When he shut his eyes, sometimes he still saw the images of Tal-Vashoth. Sometimes he didn't. He was a long way from perfect, but he liked where he was headed.

* * *

Epilogue

The snow was coming down heavy when the man showed up at Haven. A tall elf with gray hair and a worn staff on his back. The scars that crisscrossed his lips told a tale that Leliana could only begin to piece together. When he passed Varric on the way in, he started in obvious surprise, but his lips stayed silent.

The man was skilled, possibly the most skilled mage who came to them. When Leliana offered a high ranking position within their army, he declined. Just keep me doing something simple, he said. She sent him with the scouting team and he quickly became one of their best.

It wasn't long before she figured out who he was. She didn't mind. Everyone deserved a second chance at life.


End file.
